


Silencer

by secretidentity



Series: Grey Areas [4]
Category: Spy vs Spy
Genre: Abuse, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Character Death, Death Threats, Disturbing Themes, Gunplay, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual, Oral Sex, Paranoia, Rivalry, Vulnerability, but not really, trust me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretidentity/pseuds/secretidentity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The White spy has received orders to assassinate the Black spy. He decides to have a bit of fun with him while he‘s still breathing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silencer

**Author's Note:**

> A sizable story, written in pieces and stitched together like some kind of Frankenstein's monster. Originally posted to Y!Gallery and very lightly edited for archiving on AO3. 
> 
> As always, heed the warnings.

The city’s streets are dark with rain; civilians are hiding under eaves and opening their umbrellas, but _he_ is walking purposefully with single minded intent, barely noticing the wet. _What is his goal?_ Black adjusts his binoculars to get a closer view.

Black is stationed on the roof of a building - a stupid place to set up camp in weather like this. His elbows are sore from resting them on the concrete ledge but he doesn’t dare move to relieve the pain for fear of loosing sight of his target. The spy who trained him (now long since dead) had taught Black to keep a gray tarp in his briefcase, and it has come in handy countless times. It is currently draped over his head in lieu of a rain jacket; not an ideal solution, but it keeps the wet out.

More importantly, it keeps the lenses of his binoculars - an indispensable tool in his line of work - clear of water. Peering down at the street, Black focuses in on his mark. Unlike the scurrying salary men around him, White is not bowed under the heavy sheet of rain. It is impossible to see his face from this angle due to the wide brim of his hat, but Black imagines that his lips are as straight as a razor’s edge. White means business. _What is his mission?_

White is swiftly approaching a hotel and Black’s stomach turns over as he recognizes it as the one he himself is currently residing in. An unexpected development. White nods curtly to the doorman and confidently enters the building, acting the part of a resident and as smooth as ever.

 _Why would he . . . ? Does that mean . . . ?_  There is no way this could be a coincidence. There is no such thing as coincidence when your life is composed of secret intelligence and gun fights - everything is another move in the grand chess game. Nation against nation. Spy against spy. Black and white.

There’s a reason for every move and Black doubts that his rival is just checking in for the night. This calls for closer investigation.  
\---

It had been easy to jimmy open the cheap hotel lock. White’s favourite set of picks suited the job nicely, and he’s experienced enough that the act of pursuading a lock looks as simple as using a stubborn key to any casual observer. Once over the threshold, White removes his ruined hat and places it solemnly on the rack.

This may be the stupidest plan he’s had to date, but he is far beyond the point of no return. White is tracking in filth with his shoes but he couldn’t care less; he trudges into the den and eases his weary body onto Black’s couch. The wet from his clothing sinks into the fresh, steamed fabric underneath him.

He toys with the idea of raiding Black’s cupboards for something alcoholic to sip on; the next few hours may be easier with a bit of liquid courage in his stomach. He decides against it. It’s best to be sober when on enemy territory and there’s no denying that Black is an enemy, regardless of how _intimate_ they have been in the past or how long they have known each other. There is no trust in their relationship, nor should there be, considering. 

He wonders if he’ll be able to keep his word to Leader when the time comes. White pulls out his gun and rests it on his thigh. He waits.  
\---

After circiling the hotel for three hours exactly, Black finds himself standing in front of the door to his hotel room. He should have gone through the window, snuck through the ventilation systems - fuck. He has this place mapped out both on paper and in his head and there are so many better ways of getting in than through the goddamn front door.

But this is a matter of principle - he shouldn’t have to sneak into his own hotel room. Even if there is a dangerous, possibly insane spy currently waiting inside for him. _Maybe he’s staying here too - he may have his own room and he’s just checking in for the - **stupid**. Of course he doesn’t. There’s only one reason here’s here and that’s you._

Still, Black lingers in the hallway on the ludicrous welcome mat. He rests his forehead against the door and squeezes his eyes shut; takes a shuddering breath. What could this possibly mean? Inside, he hears a floorboard creak. Yeah, that tears it. White is definitely inside.

An image flashes behind his eyelids of himself, caught in a bear trap in his own living room while the White spy snickers and shoots up double victory signs. He’ll be careful. Better yet - he’ll be prepared.

He tests the door handle as subtly as possible. It’s unlocked.

Black doesn’t feel any clicking or any suspicious catching as he turns it slowly back and forth inside it’s socket. So he dares it. Takes the chance. Opens his front door and steps inside.

There are no traps this time. Just the muddy carpet betraying White’s intrusion. A sodden white hat is hanging limply on his rack, and he stares at it stupidly before hanging his own beside it. Trying to calm his racing heartbeat, he goes through the ritual of entering his home. He hangs up his jacket to dry, carefully setting the sleeves straight so they will not wrinkle. He toes off his shoes and frees his gun from his shoulder holster.

He doesn’t fancy the idea of the police being alerted by gunshots, so he quietly retrieves a silencer from his case and screws it onto the barrel of his gun. He wonders if White already has his sight trained on him. He gives one last twist to ensure the connection is snug before readying his pistol and walking into the living room.

White is sitting easily on his couch, his pale hair is plastered to his forehead from the rain and his white suit is clinging to his shoulders. He smirks at Black, looking up at him from under his brows. A gun dangles casually from his fingertips. “I wanted to talk with you.” He places the firearm carefully, deliberately on the side table. “I hope you won’t shoot an unarmed man.”

Black shifts from foot to foot, his pistol ready. This is a trap. _White would never drop his weapon and what’s hiding under his jacket and he must be carrying knives, he must be_ \- but White anticipates his doubt and is already peeling the jacket off of his body and draping wetly it over the back of the couch. He’s shrugging out of his shoulder holster and setting it carefully on the side table next to his gun. “I _am_ unarmed Black, I promise.”

When Black entered his hotel suite, this was not what he was expecting. He steps closer to his smiling, apparently defenceless enemy and keeps his weapon aimed unerringly at White’s damp chest. White stands to meet him and doesn’t flinch when the mouth of Black’s silencer bumps against his shirt. A smirk tugs at the side of his mouth and White raises his empty hands in a comical gesture of defeat.

There’s something different about White today and it’s not just his unusual, careless attitude. There’s some kind of scent clinging to him, something Black associates with dead comrades and polished shoes; it’s floral and far too familiar. The pieces fall together and Black figures it out.

“. . . you smell like lilies.”

“I came from a funeral.”

“What were you, in the fucking coffin with the corpse? The smell of it on you is just . . .” His voice softens, “And it was _raining,_ how could - ” and White strains forward, bridging the gap between them and kisses him. Black’s back stiffens, his free hand braces against White’s chest and then he succumbs, allowing his tongue to tangle with White’s for a brief moment before shoving him angrily away. “What? Jackass - you come into my house uninvited when I’ve specifically stated that I have orders demanding your _capture -_ ”

“I don’t care about your orders.”

“You say you want to talk, and then you - ” White reclaims Black’s lips and he’s being soft, completely the opposite of how he’s always been. This . . . this is something they really haven’t done before. They’ve only kissed that one time, and Black had used it a distraction to get his hands on White’s weapon. It’s always been sex and bullets and explosives between them; kisses imply something else entirely - something Black is certain he’s not comfortable with.

Even so, Black’s whole body shudders and he clutches ones of White’s raised forearms tightly, eagerly opening his mouth further to the teasing tongue invading his mouth. He moans appreciatively as White drags the tip of it over his palate and who would have thought this bastard could kiss so well? Kissing is reserved for softness and curves and his hands on a woman’s hips, but his lips are dragging across the pale stubble on his partner’s jaw and White’s palms are sliding down to fit around Black’s waist and this couldn’t get any more wrong than it already is.

Black stops for a moment, already uncomfortably hard. He’s become Pavlov’s dog; White flashes his teeth in a grin and Black’s prick twitches - he’s already drooling inside his boxers. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what you’re trying to do. But you need to get out of my hotel. My embassy has marked you. It’s my responsibility to take you in.”

“Ah, yes. I do remember your fumbling attempt at a capture last week.” Black bristles at the word ‘fumbling’ before he forces himself to relax; to whisper a sly response.

“How long were you wearing those cuffs before you worked your way out of them, by the way?” The tip of Black’s pistol slides down the front of White’s wet shirt, stopping at his belt and angling into the top of his pants. Black’s eyes catch the way White’s belly jumps the same moment his enemy grabs his wrist, not pushing him away or redirecting the barrel but clearly not allowing the game to progress.

White’s chuckle is breathy, forced. His grip on Black’s wrist tightens. “I’m not telling. If you’re honestly curious, I could always put you in a pair and you could experience first hand how long it takes to escape.” Black swears he can feel White’s heartbeat vibrating through his weapon. His own rushes to keep up.

“Do you have a pair with you? I’d much rather put you in them again and keep you here so I could see for myself. I enjoy watching you struggle when you’re restrained.” Black leans in to lick at White’s earlobe, his gun inadvertently slipping further forward to hook into White’s trousers.

The metal of the silencer is black, matte and as cold as the grave. White shudders as it makes deliberate contact with the sensitive skin of his lower belly. _I told Leader I’d finish him. Now he’s just asking for it._

White shifts his grip from Black’s wrist to the barrel of the gun and his rival completely fails to notice - too distracted by the way White’s neck is twitching under his lips, and the beads of rainwater there. White places the palm of his other hand on the butt of the pistol and thinks, _this is it. It had better fucking work or I’ve just committed suicide,_ and then he’s twisting the gun out of Black’s grip.

Black yelps as his finger catches in the trigger guard and he yanks his hand away, cradling it to his chest. White has successfully reversed their positions and is baring his teeth in a grin and pushing that muzzle, hard and threatening, against Black’s abdomen.

White laughs, “slipping your gun down the front of my pants - were you trying to intimidate me? Or did it just turn you on to have your pistol so close to mine?”

“Is ‘both’ and acceptable answer?” Apparently not. The mouth of the silencer digs a little harder into his belly.

“The handcuffs. The humiliation of having to return to my embassy in bondage. I still owe you for that.” Despite himself, Black feels excitement climb his spine at White’s words. “Shut your mouth, turn around and put your hands on the back of your head. Stay there while I fetch something. If you try anything, one of these bullets will fly straight through your kneecap.”

Black scoffs and stays exactly where he is. “I said. Turn around.” White cocks the gun and Black reluctantly places his hands on his head and turns in a slow circle to face away from his rival.

Black hears White step away, but not far. Just to the couch, perhaps, and then he’s coming back and whispering into Black’s ear as the blunt end of the silencer kisses the small of his back. “Give me your hands.” Black grudgingly complies. The cold metal bracelets secure around his wrists with a determined _click._ “You can struggle, if you like. It’s a double lock so the ratchets won’t tighten.”

Black’s cock throbs, “ _Pervert_.”

“. . . I’ll take that as a thank you.” After all, it is preferable not to have the circulation in your hands cut off, but God. White makes everything so _dirty._ “Now please,” White pulls and pushes him, almost throwing him so that he lands haphazardly on the couch, half laying and half sitting, “have a seat.”

There are so many responses Black could hurl, and a thousand lines designed to wound fly through his head, but he keeps his remarks to himself and shifts into a more comfortable position. He’s mildly disgusted at the revelation that his couch is wet. White sits in a lazy sprawl on the other end of the sofa, draping a damp leg carelessly over Black’s.

Black bites out an annoyed remark: “Whatever you want to say - say it now so that we can get it out of the way and I can get some _sleep_ tonight.”

“I didn’t want to say anything.”

Black pauses. “You said you came here to _talk._ ”

“It wouldn‘t be the first time I‘ve lied.”

“You’re lying _now_.” Exasperated, he sighs and grumbles, “Why did you come here?”

“I already told you I was at a funeral today. The deceased was a friend of mine.” He knows the truth will not be well received. ‘ _While I was there, I was given orders to kill you but I figured I’d go for one last fuck,_ ’ so he tries a lie instead. “The long and short of it is this: I need to blow off some steam. You’re my best enemy. I know you’ll be good to me.”

Black gives him the fakest look of sympathy he has ever seen. “You were never hugged as a child, were you?”

White just smiles ruefully at him, and for a moment Black thinks he’s actually being _honest_ \- but then the man laughs, all bitter and cruel and the illusion is lost. “. . . you're an asshole. What if I'm being serious?” Black shifts in his seat.

It’s stupid and backwards and _wrong,_ but his erection is still tenting the front of his pants and he refuses to do something as ludicrous as crossing his legs in an attempt to hide it. He tests the handcuffs again. They are, of course, no looser than they were the last time he tried them.

“Serious, huh? Well then, what if I said that I seriously didn’t want to help you ‘blow off’ some steam? What if I seriously told you to fuck yourself, because I'm not interested?” White smirks at him.

“You’d be lying.” He places one warm palm on Black’s thigh and looks him in the eyes. “We both know you’d be lying.” That hand travels up and presses over the bulge in his trousers - Black’s breath catches in his chest. White rubs Black’s erection through his clothes, leaning in close to whisper in his Black’s ear.

“I want you to understand something. If I wanted to, I could kill you now. I could have killed you that evening in the hospital. No, I could have killed you _years ago._ ” He absently pets Black’s neck and kisses his jaw while setting the gun down on the side table.

“You’re mine. Do you understand this?” Black lets out a wail, deep and low as White climbs up to sit on his abdomen. His hips buck up briefly, and - God. He’s so aroused and White’s just fucking _teasing._

A hand grips his throat and he starts - makes a motion to tear the possessing fingers from his body but is foiled by the cuffs restraining his wrists. Black writhes, struggles below his captor. “Bastard! Fucking - I’m not, I’m . . .” and then White is clamping his second hand down on Black’s protesting mouth, effectively cutting off his words.

White squeezes Black’s throat, clamping and relaxing on his windpipe. “You’re not what? Are you so sure?” Black alternately hisses breath in between White’s tightly held fingers and chokes for air. His legs kick uselessly, heels thumping against the cushions below him. Black’s twisting his shoulders, his wrists inside their bonds, but the cuffs have no slack and White is showing no mercy.

“Right now, you owe your continued existence to me.” White’s smile is wild - a little insane. “I could kill you. With these hands of mine.” He demonstrates by squeezing Black’s throat tightly - holding his grip firm for several seconds. Black writhes below him, fights harder than before and bucks - bucks hard and . . . stills. He’d whine if there were any breath in his lungs, anywhere for the breath in his lungs to escape to. His eyelids flutter and White releases his hold, rubbing Black’s throat as he coughs; chokes on the air he’s sucking in.

There are involuntary tears sliding down the sides of his face and White hums, using his thumbs to rub the wet into Black’s flushed skin. “Shush, shush now. You’re only hurting yourself by resisting - if you relax and submit this will be much easier for you. Do you understand?”

When Black speaks, the sound of his voice is strained, harsh. “I - yes. I fully u-understand, but I can't submit to you.” And White bends down to steal a filthy kiss.

“I wouldn’t expect any less from you than a proper fight.” Black doesn’t say ‘isn’t this supposed to be sex?’ because he knows better. The one-upmanship they show each other on the field is the same as their battles in bed. Always trying to prove which one is the better spy, which one is stronger, smarter, faster. This fight between them hasn’t been about their governments for years. It’s never been about sex. Their encounters are always nothing more, nothing less than elaborate one-upmanship.

White is flicking open the button of Black’s straining trousers, pulling down the zip. “I have to say, even though last time was . . . very, very fun, I regret that I neglected to fuck you.” He manoeuvres the waistband down to mid-thigh and lies partially on top of Black’s legs, looking up at him with a smirk.

“I-I’m guessing. . .” Black pauses as White drags his tongue up the length of his cock, through his thin boxers. “That’s on the agenda for tonight, then?”

“Do you have any objections?

“Would you hear them?”

A sharp smirk. “I’d happily hear them, yes, but I wouldn’t oblige you.”

“Then it would be pointless to voice them.”

“Not at all.” He sucks sloppily on Black’s cock through his underwear, laving his rigid member with swipes of his flat tongue. Black’s breath hitches and his hips tremble below White’s hands. “I would love to hear you _beg your case_.”

White enthusiastically sucks on Black’s prick until he can taste the precome through the thin fabric and hears Black moan - his voice shudders and breaks. He parts company with Black‘s member with one final lick.

“D-don’t. Keep going.”

“You’re in no position to make demands of me,” White pulls Black’s boxers and pants all the way off and tosses them onto the floor. “And I honestly do not care if you come.” And then his mouth is back, kissing along the ridge on the underside of Black’s erection and teasing - just teasing. “This is for my own amusement, remember?”

“Now, swing your legs up.” Black grimaces and stares at White, uncomprehending. His disobedience earns a tight hand on his prick and a firm twist - Black yelps and his knees come up instinctively to protect himself. From there, it is easy for White to slip between his thighs and manoeuvre Black’s calves over his broad shoulders.

Black’s is folded almost in half - the position squeezes him terribly in the middle and makes it hard to breathe. He groans out a wordless complaint as White presses harder, forcing his knees even closer to his chest. “Look at you, do you see how your cock is dripping? You’re such a slut.” Black looks down obediently and winces at the sight of his own prick, laying rigid against his belly with the glans protruding traitorously from his foreskin. Precome is oozing out of his member regardless of the discomfort, the pain and how hard he’s telling himself that he doesn’t want this.

White takes Black’s erection in hand and strokes it slowly, watching Black watch himself. “See that? The head is all swollen - I can’t believe how **aroused** you are. But then again,” he presses his hips against Black‘s ass, “I’m pretty turned on, too.”

Black bites his lip but fails to hold back his voice. He moans out loud when White’s thumb circles his cockhead and strokes over his leaking slit, pausing to press his thumbnail against it. “Yeah, you’re really ready for this.” Black’s thighs twitch and he raises his hips an inch off the couch to get a bit deeper into White’s grip. White’s eyes go hard and he tightens his fingers around Black’s prick, forcing a yelp from his enemy’s throat.

“I-I don’t like this. It. It was better was it was just you and me and war. This is. This is way too complicated. This is fucking insane.”

“Is it?” White seals his lips around the head of Black’s cock - sucks hard and releases with a pop. “You seem to be enjoying yourself regardless.” Two bony fingers pet his asshole before forcing their way inside. White isn’t being kind and it _hurts,_ his fingers are curling inside the rim of his ass and God, _please -_

“Stop, don’t -”

White slides his fingers almost all of the way out before thrusting back in, drilling into his clenching pucker. Black whines and tries to pull away, “Please,” but his legs are being pushed further to his chest, the fingers are thrusting harder and things are only going to get worse from here.

White wriggles his digits inside the tight channel of Black’s ass and slides a third in beside the others. Black’s thighs jerk, shake against White’s pale shoulders. The pain is awful, but when White’s fingertips forcefully bump against his prostate, he can’t help but yelp and twitch at the sensation.

White bites the inside of Black thigh and grins. He removes his fingers and slaps Black’s ass sharply. “Get on your hands and knees so that I can do this properly.” Black grits his teeth and stares at White defiantly; why would he want to make his violation any easier for his antagonist? When he does not obey, White pushes him onto his side and pulls him into position.

Turning his face to breathe, Black widens his knees to improve his balance. White chuckles and roughly gropes his ass. “There. Now I can _see_ what I’m doing.”

“Sick. Fuck.” With a secret grin, White pushes two fingers back into Black’s asshole, chuckling as his actions cause involuntarily wriggling and grunting. He thrusts his fingers lazily a few times before reaching down with his other hand and sliding a fresh pair of fingers in beside the others.

“F-fuck!”

“Relax, damn it.”

“ _Nnk -_ ”

White pries Black’s red, sore rim open with either hand. The skin stretches and tightens around his digits and Black mutters a curse, moans like something dying. White spits into the struggling hole. “Heh. I can see your insides.” He absently pulls at one side of Black’s opening with a pair of fingers while the other pair slide in deep and stroke his inner walls. “That’s pretty sexy.”

“Bastard.”

The fingers pull out. White rubs his erection along Black’s perineum. Black hears a distinctive pop-click behind him and stiffens. “Don’t you dare fuck me - don’t you dare. I’ll _kill you._ ”

“You’ve said that before and I’m still breathing. Besides, I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of it.” White is stoking down Black’s thighs now, feeling the tense muscles there. “After all, you’ve done it to me before. And I’m being kind. Relatively.”

“I didn‘t _mean_ what I said last time, but if you . . . God. I’ll _mean_ it this time, White.” And those fingers are back, slippery with lube and kinder, spreading the wetness around his pucker before venturing inside and thoroughly coating his insides. “I fucking promise.”

White smirks and he removes his digits from Black’s grasping hole. He casually rubs his cock in the crease between Black’s ass cheeks as he squirts lube straight onto himself and consequently, Black’s ass. “Then I’ll just have to finish you after I’m done. Leader will be pleased that I‘ve accomplished my mission so promptly.”

Cogs turn and Black’s mind is set into motion. _Finish me? Mission, what mission? If he’s passed on intelligence that the Black Nation is looking for his capture - the White Nation can’t afford to lose their top agent - they’d, damn it. They’d be after . . ._

A surge of adrenaline and Black is fighting for real now; twisting his body and baring his teeth, but the cold kiss of the silencer’s muzzle against the base of his skull makes him pause, _God_. If White’s received orders to kill him he’s going to fucking **die** \- White is nothing if not efficient and this isn’t what he wants. He was just _spying_ and that’s his _job_ and why did he follow White, couldn’t he have left and called his embassy, he should have gotten a new hotel room and - _damn it._

He doesn’t want to die with White’s come in his ass.

There’s no space to think; White is already teasing Black’s entrance open with his cock. He rocks his hips forwards and sinks in an inch. Black drops his forehead to the cushion and hisses, shifts his knees further apart to take some of the pressure off - the sliding penetration, the thickness of White’s cock piercing him - he still feels ready to explode. "St-stop! wait . . . not serious. You can’t be serious.”

“Well . . . perhaps. You heard what happened to my friend who disputed his orders.” He grinds his hips hard and forces Black to take another inch. “Relax, or this is going to hurt like fucking hell.”

He writhes, partially skewered on White’s erection with nowhere to escape. “Hnng, you bastard. You. _Bastard_.” White languidly rubs Black’s side as he adjusts, curls in on himself and submits. Regardless of how Black complains, how much he _doesn’t want this,_ White is sinking further in. Black moans as if he’s splitting apart and his shoulders tremble.

White‘s hips are flush with Black’s ass and he leans forward to brush his lips against Black’s blushing ear, “Don’t worry. I have no intentions of making a dead man suffer excessively; I‘ll be gentle with you.” and starts a constant, slow rhythm. His hips bump insistently against Black’s raised ass.

Flexing his hands inside his cuffs, Black exhales sharply at a particularly deep thrust and loses his breath. He gasps, pants through his open mouth and struggles not to hyperventilate. This . . . _You’ve been in worse situations before, you can live through this - don’t panic. Don’t fucking panic,_ and White just continues rocking into him, completely ignorant of Black’s personal struggle.

His cock slips out, leaving Black’s ass gaping and contracting at the loss. “Nnng - d-damn it.” And then White’s pushing back in, twisting his hips just so until his thighs are bumping against Black’s, his prick buried as deep as possible. He stays there, erection throbbing inside of his rival as he staves off his impending orgasm.

Through all of this, all of the emotional turmoil and physical discomfort, Black is intensely aware of the weapon aimed at his skull. He’d primed and loaded it himself - if White twitched the wrong way, if his finger slipped on the trigger - the mental images Black creates for himself make him shudder. This . . . this could get messy very easily, in a very short amount of time.

“I’ve never seen you this vulnerable before.” White’s voice is dark, husky with lust. “You are . . . your ass feels incredible.” He withdraws - pulls all the way out just to feel Black’s rim working hard to keep him inside. He roughly thumbs Black’s hole before pushing his cock back in.

It’s painful - Black can’t help but whine and bite his lips. The penetration is the worst part and White is just _milking_ it, slipping just the head inside and making miniscule thrusts, pulling and pushing only his glans past the squeezing orifice. It’s the most unsatisfying way White could possibly fuck him and God, it just makes his asshole ache for a proper reaming - and he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this, but he’s itching for it and now White’s just _teasing._

Black’s toes curl and he whines, presses his spine up into White’s chest and forces out, “If you're going to fuck me, fuck me properly, bastard!” White is watching the head of his cock disappear into Black with rapt attention.

"Oh? You're enjoying this, after all." He wraps a hand around Black’s erection and pulls once, squeezes the base of it in his loose fist.

“Please - please just . . . _Jesus!_ ” He’s fucking down into White’s hand and twisting in the handcuffs. Black’s back arches, his whole body shaking with effort. Seeing signs of eminent release, White ceases touching Black‘s prick.

He drags his teeth over the curve of Black’s neck and grips his dark hair when he cries out. White’s breath is low; holding back is obviously taking it’s toll on his endurance. “None of that. I’m not done having my fun, I want you to be able to enjoy the experience with me. Understand?”

Black makes a brief attempt to pull away but White holds him still with one hand on his hip and the barrel of that _gun_ against his skull. He’s struggling far too much for White’s liking, but the way his ass is shifting and clenching is . . . It feels really nice.

Keeping that one hand on his hip and the gun aimed at Black’s head, White starts fucking him deep and slow. “After all . . .” the long drag of his cock over Black’s prostate makes his enemy whine and thrust back, pant and press his open mouth to the couch cushion. “This is the first and the last time I will ever fuck you.”

Black’s heart jumps into his throat and White’s prick moving inside of him is hot and smooth and hits all of the right places and it’s been so long since he’d had a cock up his ass - and that experience had been questionable to begin with. It’s never been something Black has sought out, but now . . . God. 

The hand on Black’s hip clenches suddenly and White’s thrusts stutter - his hips slam against Black’s and he mutters a deep, reverberating groan.

“Fuck - _fuck_. I can’t _believe_ . . . You came _inside_ me. Sick **bastard**.”

“Yeah. I did.” Panting from his release, White slips his cock out with a squelching sound. He absently fingers Black’s wet hole, spreading around a bead of come that’s escaped and pushing it back inside.

“ _Damn it._ ”

The barrel of the gun is no longer pressing against the back of his head, so Black lifts his face attempts to push himself into a sitting position - but White’s hand is curling around the back of his neck, forcing him back down with a laugh. “I’m not done with you.” It’s hard to breathe when his nose is being crushed against the cushions, so he turns his head to splutter swears.

“Language, language.”

The cold metal of the silencer touches the small of Black’s back, and the realisation of White’s intention hits him in the pit of his stomach. He shouts, kicks back with his legs and all but becomes the epitome of a wild animal. “Don’t! Fuck, you _can’t_. You _fucking can’t._ ”

White holds him down with his knees on Black’s calves and a hand on his head. “I can. I will.” The tip of the silencer presses against his asshole, teases it open again.

“This is how you wanted it, right? Just you and me and war.”

Cold dark metal slides inside of Black’s sore ass and he chokes out a sob. “Please, just . . . It _hurts._ ” He’s shrinking away from the weapon penetrating him while trying to rub his dripping prick against the couch cushions, completely contradicting himself.

White shifts the silencer in and out, rocking it just a few inches inside of Black’s ass.

“You _are_ going to come like this. Being violated by me.”

“Nnk - ” The silencer’s muzzle is rubbing against his prostate now, and it’s wonderful and horrible at the same time; the shaft is unforgiving and forces his insides to accommodate it, nothing like White’s flexible cock. “ _It hurts!_ ” White adds a twist to the thrusts and Black can feel the sore skin of his opening twisting with it, gripping the textured finish of the cylinder regardless of the lube and fuck - “D-don’t!”

“You like this. I know you like this.”

Black’s toes curl and his back arches, his mouth gaping open and gasping for air. The pain - the _humiliation_ is indescribable. White is ramming it in now, cruel and unyielding. Black is sure that he’s bleeding - damn it. He wails into the cushions and promises himself that he won’t cry. He won’t fucking cry.

“I could shoot you now. The bullet would tear straight through your vitals. You’d bleed out and you’d be dead. Wouldn’t that be wonderful . . . ? The ultimate orgasm.”

His heart in in his mouth and he wishes he could get away; _White is going to do it, he’s going to shoot me in the ass and the murder scene will be humiliating._ White wraps a firm hand around his cock, pulls - and despite his best efforts, Black arches his back, cries out and comes. The ejaculate pulses out of him weakly and spills over White’s pumping fist.

Chuckling, White continues to shift that gun inside of him - to rock it in and in and nurse the last of that reluctant orgasm out of Black’s slack body. He pulls the silencer out slowly and takes the handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe the blood-laced mess of come and lube off of it.

“Now.” He’s rolled onto his back, made to look up at his executioner. “Say goodbye, my dear.” Black braces himself, entirely ready for that bullet to tear through his skull. He looks White right in the eyes and thinks of all the places in the world that he’s yet to visit. He thinks of the family belonging to the first man he ever killed. He thinks of his grandmother. He sees the spark in the barrel as the hammer hits the bullet, hears the faint sound of the silenced bullet whizzing through the air. A burst of feathers by his left ear surprises him.

White shot the couch. White shot the fucking couch.

Black’s first thought is, _how could he have missed?_

The new few minutes are a blur - the gun is dropped onto the carpet and White gets up to pace the room. He talks to himself in a low, hushed voice. Black is too dazed to make out the words. White sits back down on the far side of the couch and places his head in his hands.

His laughter is hysterical.

 _Is that the end? Is . . . he just going to leave it at that?_ Black can’t help but feel somewhat cheated.

White finally addresses him. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.” He bends down and takes the discarded gun from the ground, swivels to aim it at Black’s head once more. “No, I don’t mean that. I did intend to fuck you. I did intend to make it **difficult**.”

White laughs, “I do this everyday. I already . . . I _hate_ you. This should be easy right?” Black nervously tugs on his handcuffs, rattling the short chain between them.

"I am a volunteer in this war. I can do this job better than anyone else can; I have the skills and I _believe_ in my nation." He smiles ruefully, something dangerous lurking in his expression. "I know I kill - It's necessary in my line of work and I do it almost every day, but it's _different._ I don't want to be an assassin. I'm a spy, not a soldier."

The silence following his confession is painfully thick, like being underwater. White finally swallows and speaks in a surprisingly honest tone. "At the funeral today, I paid my last respects to a man who did not deserve to die."

Black carefully considers his response. If he says the wrong thing, White might . . . he chances it, regardless. "That's rare, in our profession."

"Yes. He didn't work in the field. He may not have been an innocent, but compared to _men like us . . ._ they killed him because he refused his assignment. Shot him dead on the spot. I watched him bleed out."

"What does that have to do with anything?" White presses a single finger against Black's lips.

"I received orders to finish you off at the funeral today. My Leader pulled me aside and pressed a sealed envelope into my hand. He fucking _smiled_ as he did it. The sick thing is - I'm certain he meant it as a test of my mettle. I'm certain he meant this whole fucking scenario as a test."

This time, White sets the gun down deliberately on the couch. "I think I made a promise that I can't keep. I'm probably not going to see you for a while after this, Black."

". . . I won't miss you."

"That's a lie. You'll send lilies to my funeral, right?"

"Y-yeah. I'll . . . I can do that."

"It's been . . . It's been fun. It's been really fun."  
\---

He doesn’t see or hear from White for a week.

While pouring himself a mug of coffee, Black overhears an associate discussing how his rival was terminated in sick detail. His own nation turned against him and executed him like dog, gutted him in a sterile room while he was bound, gagged and helpless. They did not afford him the courtesy of a bullet. The coffee spills over Black’s fingers and it takes him a moment to notice the burn.

He can’t help but feel responsible - bitter pride blossoms within his chest because - _I did this. I caused this cataclysm to unravel inside my rival and he’s dead. Mission. Fucking. Accomplished._ In a state of unprecedented euphoria, he decides to celebrate, but the bottle of champagne only makes him morose. He finds himself drunk and weeping over his toilet bowl, heaving with guilt, remorse and just plain _missing_ the fight that he’s only just lost.

It takes Black three days to contrive to die in action.

Later, a courier with shaking knees delivers an anonymous bouquet of lilies to a nameless, White spy’s funeral and they are buried along with the empty casket.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the cruel ending. If it's any consolation, this isn't quite the end; there is one more part yet to this series.
> 
> Thank you for reading this far.


End file.
